Broken Emeralds
by TheGrandMasterMind
Summary: Darkness can grip even the brightest of us, pull us into its dark waters where even the strongest of us fall. Even the Wizarding World's Golden Saviour isn't immune to this rule; death has haunted him, darkness has plagued him, the pain crushing him, and he is tired and he is broken. Dark Harry! Dark Prince. Powerful Harry.
1. Eligit Tenebris

**Chapter One**

 ** _Eligit Tenebris_**

* * *

 _ **LIFE IS ABOUT CHOICES.**_

 _ **SOME WE REGRET, SOME WE'RE**_

 _ **PROUD OF. SOME WILL HAUNT US**_

 _ **FOREVER. THE MESSAGE IS: WE ARE**_

 _ **WHAT WE CHOOSE TO BE.**_

 _ **-GRAHAM BROWN.**_

* * *

He stared at the image in the window pane, it shone like a bloodless phantom back at him, emerald eyes glowing like beacons from under a sea of messy raven black locks. All around him the night was silent, clocking him in a blanket of darkness, the faint glow of a full moon radiated from behind a layer of murky grey clouds, the stars were blind to him peering up towards where they were hidden.

His mind was not silent; a raging storm of fire and lighting threatening to burst through his skull, a deep pounding echo of his heart spurred on the storm like the bashing of drums on a battlefield. For a fleeting moment he wished that it would still, for his heart to stop, just for a moment of blissful silence, just one moment; that was all he asked. Placing his forehead against the glass he felt an icy storm join the battle of fire, it cooled the flaring heat behind his pulsating scar.

Pushing his face into the coldness he closed his eyes and clenched his jaws; at that moment he felt so cold, a coldness that even the most eruptive volcano would not warm. The cursed scar seared his mind; a constant reminder of what he didn't have, for what was taken away from him, what he never had the chance to enjoy. It was the only cure for this coldness inside of him. A pressure built up behind his eyelids, he scrunched them even tighter, a silent scream left his lips, he curled into a tighter ball on the window seat as the memories of all those that had been taken from his flashed before his eyes in a blur of green light; a deathly light that would haunt his dreams for eternity. A tear fell.

* * *

It was with a blurred mind that he found himself dressed from his pyjamas into a pair of loose black jeans and shirt. He was stood in the centre of the room he had slept in every year since he first arrived at Hogwarts six years earlier; then life had been simpler, fighting three headed dogs named Fluffy, playing giant chess and racing around after keys with broken wings. When his nemesis was just a snowy white haired slytherin, when he was blind and innocent to the world of Dark Lords and Golden Boys.

He caught a glimpse of ginger between the red folds of bed curtains; beyond them laid his first friend. Ron Weasley, who he had journeyed into the hands of death with many times before; yet Ron did not understand what he understood, the pain of losing someone just before your eyes whilst you stood helpless to do anything. The ache that weighs down your heart, the hopelessness that you feel, a pain he never wanted him to feel.

Throwing on his cloak he slunk silently over the carpet towards the door, the floor silnet below his feet as he opened the door and slipped outside. The Gryffindor common room was deserted, moonlight flooded through under the curtains, the burning embers died in the large stone fireplace. Wand secure in his hand he crept over the floor boards and out of the portrait hole into the corridor.

Not bothering to cast a 'lumos' he made his way down the maze of corridors and moving staircases guided only by a faint moon glow that leaked through the windows. Before he knew it he had already passed through the main entrance, through the towering oak doors and into the blistering, finger chilling night. Making his way across the frost kissed grass, which crunched slightly beneath his feet, he passed Hagrid's hut, gentle puffs of smoke rose from the chimney up into the night. There was a soft orange fiery glow from behind the tatard, raggy curtains.

He carried on until he reached the edge of the wards, till he could feel the tingle of their power on the edge of his nose. With a deep breath he stepped outside their protection, turning as he did so to the giant castle; digging into his mind, to its very edge, he grasped hold of his connection with the Dark Lord. It called to him, like it had done countless times before; this time however he answered its call. With a crack the Wizarding World's Golden Boy left Hogwarts, never would he return.

* * *

Harry appeared just beyond the wards of Riddle Manor; the Manor loomed imposingly over him from where it was perched upon the highest hill in Little Hangleton, the village that rested down in the valley, he had seen it once before, three years earlier. The moon peaked out from behind the slate roof, the cloud cover thinner here and when he looked he could see the faint twinkle of stars above; the Manor looked deserted, broken windows and cracked wooden doors, the lawns un-kept, and a weed infested driveway.

Reaching out his hand he moved towards the wards; he felt their power, Voldemort's power, radiating towards him like lightning. They bustled with energy, he saw a glimmer of blue light flash before him.

He slipped his hand through the wards, felt their magic mixing with his own. Confident that there was no risk of pushing forward he stepped through them through to the other side. Beyond them the scene was very different; gone was the scene from a muggle horror film, instead replaced by a glamourous Manor. The stone walls were clean, the windows, no longer murky and fractured, shone in the white light. The grand doors were freshly painted, the driveway de-weeded and the lawns cut and treated. Now instead of being a relic abandoned to the cruel folds of time, it was inhabited, or well that was what could be guessed by the faint candle glow beyond a few windows.

His feet carried him up to the front door which opened before him; blindly he made his way through the manor, knowing exactly where to go, guided by the pull of his connection with the Dark Lord.

He paused at a set of grand dark oak doors, then they swooped open revealing a royal sized rectangled hall. A throne was set upon a raised dais at the far end. The walls were decorated with shades of slytherin green, black and silver, large arched gothic windows stretched from the floor to the arched ceiling, in perfect uniformed spacing. Three large silver chandeliers were suspended above the room, casting a candle lit glow onto the deep drown wooden flooring.

Harry paid little attention to all the small details as he made his way to where Voldemort was lounged upon the green and silver throne; the dark wizard was no longer snake like and ghostly; he was still pale but not deathly so, his skin looked healthy, he looked alive this time. His hair was a rich chocolate, the wavy strands were pushed back only a few sections falling forward. He looked much like the Tom Riddle that Harry had seen in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago; his handsome features and his wise persona; but his eyes remained the same burning red which had haunted many nightmares, a hint to the darkness beneath.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to the throne he stopped. Then, suddenly, he kneeled, lowering his head:

"I surrender."

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	2. You Obey Me!

**You Obey Me!**

Out of all the possibilities at hand, the possibility that the Golden Boy would surrender over to him was one which admittedly had not run through his head. Many others, however, had; the topmost being a final duel to end it then and there, perhaps a trap of some form or another; but he had not expected his nemesis to walk through that door the way he did. To walk straight to him, not even glancing around at the Death Eaters gathered there, then when close enough, instead of pulling out his wand, he fell to his knees and surrendered willingly to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort cursed himself mentally; he should have seen it, he had felt the boy's mind when he had reached out to him and then as he approached the castle, but foolishly he had not delved beneath the surface. If he had then he would have seen the despair and the pain lying in wait, and so he would not have been left bewildered as to what to do next. A still silence fell over them; Harry remained perfectly still, not a single twitch of a muscle as he stared at the floor ahead of him.

"Tell me, Harry Potter, why is it that you have surrendered to me?"Voldemort questioned, breaking the silence.

"Because, I am tired, I am tired of fighting." The youth replied Voldemort was momentarily shocked. "I'm tired of the lies, of the games and the secrets they play with me. I cannot continue on that path of which they wish me to follow."

"And, so, you come to me?"

"Yes."

Over the period of a few stretched moments, this fact was mulled over by the Dark Lord. "I expect you met high resistance on your departure from Hogwarts; I would be a fool to think that Dumbledore would allow you to surrender willingly to me, and what about your friends, I'm sure it was hard to leave them behind."

"They don't know; none of them do. Though, I am sure they will find out." Harry explained.

"They will come for you, even if they don't know where you are, they will try, and it will be then that they will die." The Dark Lord hissed, he studied the child closely, but there was no response.

"No they won't; yes, they will come, to begin with, but they will mount no further attempts to rescue me after they fail the first time." Now, that was not the response any person in the room had been expecting. "To them, I am merely a weapon, to you I'm merely an obstacle in your quest for power and purity."

"Why have you come here?" Voldemort drawled. "To surrender, to die? What is the purpose of this?"

"If you would have me: I would like to pledge my allegiance to you and only you, my lord."

The red-eyed wizards rose from his throne and stalked forward to the kneeling figure, he circled him. Harry did nothing but stare at the black marble floor beneath him.

"And what is it that you have to offer me; to make your service worthy?"

"You know what I can give you." Harry smirked, "I can give you the key to everything, they think me the 'Golden Boy', perhaps they don't have to know that I'm not all that golden, just yet." Harry was going elaborate further, but Voldemort held up his hand signalling for silence. Harry's jaw locked, he looked at the floor.

"I already have all the doors open, Harry, I do not need you to open doors that are already unlocked and in use, now do I. You know that surely? So, what else can you offer me?" Voldemort hissed, coming to a stop before the kneeling child.

"Anything you want."

"I want the world, Harry Potter; are you prepared to give it to me?"

"Yes." Harry admitted, "It is yours, rightfully so."

Voldemort smiled, "Lucius, take him downstairs." He ordered, turning his back and climbing up the stairs to the throne.

"Wait! What?" Harry shouted looking up rather alarmed as Lucius drew closer, he rose to his feet, "I-I-My Lord! I offered-"

"ENOUGH!" The Dark Wizard bellowed, turning full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, the young wizard instantly fell silent, "You surrendered to me, you offered your allegiance, to me. You Obey Me! If it is my wish, it is also yours."

Harry's shoulders dropped and he stood still: "It is my wish that Lucius takes you downstairs."

"And so that is my wish also, Master." The young wizard bowed his head and allowed himself to be led away from the throne room as Voldemort took his seat.

Lucius' firm grip guided him through the corridors of the manor, till they came to a large thick metal door at the end of a corridor which blocked their pass. There was no handle of which could be seen, nor a keyhole at which it would be unlocked. Harry could almost see the magic dancing on its surface, wards and spells of significant strength. The eldest Malfoy then began to chant a short passage in what sounded like latin, he placed his hand flat against the door. Almost immediately it began to swing open and he was pushed over the threshold into the dark.

He was guided down a long set of spiral stairs which seemed to be twisting there the way to the centre of the Earth itself; suddenly he felt faint, and he knew then that something was missing. He put his hand out and balanced himself on the wall.

"Finally felt it have you? It usually takes wizards much longer to realise that their magic has been stripped from them, but of course you have a lot of it to be stripped of," Harry looked up alarmed, "Don't worry, Potter, it is not gone forever, merely for your stay down here, however long that may be. I'm sure you'll get used to the feeling."

"How do you not feel it?" Harry questioned, noting Lucius' lack of discomfort.

"The spells interwoven around this dungeon only suppress the magic of anyone who is not keyed into the wards, I am and therefore their power does not affect me."

They travelled further down until finally, they reached the bottom. Lucius pulled out his wand from his robes and whispered 'Lumos', instantly the end of his wand glowed brightly. Before them was three cells, one on each wall, no bars just smooth metal, like before there was no handles, no visible way of opening the doors. Harry was led to the farthest cell.

"These cells are empty?" Harry questioned.

"Yes. You'll be the first one down here."

"I feel honoured." He remarked.

He thought himself delusional when he saw the corners of Lucius' lips turn up in a small and brief grin; the elder wizard then laid his hand on the metal surface, when he lifted it off the metal door slid upwards into the ceiling. Lucius steered Harry into the cell.

It was round, that was what Harry first noted about the room. Not about the size or the darkness of the room. He was shocked by the shape, a perfect dome, easily twenty metres in diameter.

"Come," Lucius instructed and beckoned him to the centre of the cell, there lay a set of manacles chained magically to the floor. They were fresh steel, shiny and smooth, but their length was short, only two or three metres long. He had to fight himself not to resist when Lucius began shackling his hands and ankles into the cuffs which reshaped to become almost flush with his skin. There wasn't much slack between the ankles, enough so he could walk comfortably but definitely not run, another two chains were locked onto the middle of the one binding his ankles, one connecting to the ground the other to the very short length of chain running between his wrists, yet again another longer chain connected them to the same spot on the floor.

Suddenly, Lucius summoned a long stick of wood and lit the end of it, bright white light replaced by the

soft glow of flames. Harry flinched when Lucius pointed his wand at his neck, he felt vulnerable in that moment, a cooling sensation wrapped around his neck as he felt something slither into place there.

"What's with the collar?" He questioned as Lucious waved his wand and a chain came down from the collar and attaching itself to the chain between his wrists.

"Voldemort requested it," Lucius answered.

"Of course he did." When Lucius was finished he vanished the torch and cast 'Lumos' once more, he then turned and made his way to the door.

"Wait!" Harry shouted, Lucius' stopped just outside the door and turned back towards him, "How long I am to be kept down here?"

"As long as it takes." Lucius simply said, and the door began to slide back into place.

"Takes for what!?" But it was too late, the door had already fallen to the ground and Harry was plunged into darkness.

* * *

How long had it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? He could no longer tell, he had seen anyone since his imprisonment began. Food and water appeared, but it was an irregular routine; there was enough of each to keep him alive but never enough to leave him satisfied. His lips were dry and his eyes tired but he could not sleep for he had slept far too much already. His wrists and ankles were chaft due to the cuffs which he had pulled at as he paced the length of his chain in continuous circles in the darkness.

Although the cell was large he was confined more, it was more tormenting than living under the stairs at the Dursleys for ten years. Then he had been able to see the walls, feel them even. Now there were no walls to be seen, but he knew they were there, he could never reach them, his chains keeping him confined to a small area of the cell. And so he paced, curling up in the centre of the room, or as far as he could get from the centre. No warmth protecting him from the metal flooring.

He was mentally exhausted when he finally fell to his knees a hoarse cry of rage leaving his mouth, it did not echo. Moving onto his side he stared blankly into the darkness.

It was sometime later when the door to the cell finally opened, the light blinding. Shielding his eyes behind his hand he weakly moved into a kneeling position. Slowly, he lowered his hand; perhaps he had expected someone else to be stood in the doorway, but there the Dark Lord stood, a shadow clutched in his grasp.

With a wave of his hand the chains binding Harry fell away and vanished from sight; the figure was thrown harshly into the cell. Voldemort stalked towards the young wizard, he laid a hand on Harry's cheek; "Remember, you obey Me without question." He hissed quietly. A dagger was thrust into Harry's hands, he stared at Voldemort questionably. "She has served her usefulness." Voldemort moved back to stand outside the cell, a click of his fingers another worldly glow lit up the cell. The door began to fall again; the voice of the Dark Lord echoed in his ears: "Kill her."


End file.
